she's an Ugly Hag
by DiamondintheDark
Summary: She's an Ugly Hag; no, truly. He's not lying, she really is. Ugly with a capital 'U' and Hag with a capital 'H'. He fails to see how anyone can find her attractive, because he really doesn't see how. T for mild swearing. Fluffy!


**AN: I really have no idea where this came from! I intended to go in a different direction with this but next thing I know, I have this fluffy little fic in front of me :) Enjoy! And don't forget - reviews are always welcomed!**

**DiamondintheDark**

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Summary: She's an Ugly Hag; no, truly. He's not lying, she really is. Ugly with a capital 'U' and Hag with a capital 'H'. He fails to see how anyone can find her attractive, because he really doesn't see how.

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She's an Ugly Hag; no, truly. He's not lying, she really is. Ugly with a capital 'U' and Hag with a capital 'H'. That's how awful she looks. He fails to see how anyone can find her attractive. With her buck teeth sticking out so strangely and that bush she calls hair, she isn't that great of a sight. There are a million freckles spread across her face that she looks like a poor imitation of a speckled giraffe. Her eyes are a dull shade of blue, so dull and dark that they look like bottomless pits. And yet according to the male population at Hogwarts she's hot with a capital 'H'. He really doesn't see how.

_He knows what giraffes are; he's not daft. He looked it up in the library after she called him an "albino giraffe with the sensitivity of a caveman". He thought it was quite fitting; after all, he did inherit his father's intimidating height. What he hopes that he didn't inherit however, was his father's receding hairline. Now _that_ would be truly disappointing to all of his loyal fans. _

She spends all of her free time studying; her nose pressed so closely to the textbook sprawled out in front of her she becomes cross eyed. She doesn't participate in Hogsmeade visits; she doesn't go to Quidditch games. She's never seen having a boyfriend; even her own friends don't really talk to or spend time with her.

_He likes to think that that's good thing, because they're all Potter and Weasley groupies who don't care about the individuals themselves, just their surname. He doesn't know if she knows this, but she doesn't seem too affected when they latch onto James Potter and listens to his every word, shallow adoration on their faces. Just for kicks, he sends a stinging jinx towards them every time they're within range._

Amongst her cousins she has one of the worst tempers a Weasley could ever have. She also has the biggest lungs out of anyone he's ever known. She screams so highly pitched to the point the windows threaten to break, and everyone in the vicinity are almost legally deaf. She's not the weakest person, either. Her tiny, midget-like size gives the impression she's a pathetic little thing, but she has no qualms releasing some pent up frustration in her punches – he would know.

_He writes his dad about this, his face hurting and swelling like hell. His dad replies quickly, claiming that he understands what his son is going through because she did exactly the same thing her mother did to his dad. He's thoroughly amused and forgets all about the pain. Or at least, until he sees her the next day and her hand is clinging to an ice pack, her knuckles red and swelling. Then he's in pain – a different kind of pain._

She always wears frumpy, hand me down clothes from her older cousins. Granted, her older cousins Victoire, Dominique, and Molly Weasley were three of the most beautiful girls to have ever graced the halls of Hogwarts. They wore the trendiest of clothes, and refused to wear anything that would threaten to hurt their image. However, by the time their clothes were passed down to her, all the sequins would have fallen out, threads coming undone, too many spillings of butterbeer, ripped jeans truly ripped and falling apart. She always looks like a poor case of someone with no appreciation nor sense for fashion. She doesn't seem to care about her appearance at all.

_He gives her his sweater after another fraying shirt comes undone. He's taller than she is, and when he catches a glimpse of her bare neck, he acts quickly. She's hesitant at first, but after a strong gust of wind – it is wintertime, after all – tears through her, she grabs the sweater like it's her lifeline. He smirks as she wrestles it on, he can't help it; she looks even tinier in his sweater with just her head peeking out. She frowns at him, asking what's so funny, and he shakes his head. He suggests they get inside soon, because it really is cold outside and he's only in a simple shirt. _

She's one of the moodiest people he knows. One minute they are having a civil conversation, the next she's screaming her head off at him, threatening and hexes flying all around. She then turns around and suddenly her Grinch personality vanishes, and she's all smiles and cheering charms galore. He doesn't know how her family keeps up with it.

_He supposes it's just that womanly way of thinking – when he searches his memory to figure out what he did wrong, he comes up blank. He didn't insult her (yet), he didn't hex her (yet), and he didn't beat her on a test (regrettably, yet). He asks his best mate Albus Severus – worst name possible, even his name wasn't as god awful – where he went wrong, and Al simply shrugs, takes a sip of firewhiskey, and says, "Who knows, mate. They're women. They're mental."_

She's also incredibly indecisive. He suggests a theme for the upcoming ball and she likes it, so she starts sketching out how the Great Hall would look like when she decides it's too cliché. He wants to grab her skinny neck and wring it until she finally makes a decision because _damnit, this should have been done and over with a week ago_. He truly doesn't know how they've gotten anything to work with her indecisiveness getting in the way of everything.

_He figures that part of this has to do with that rumor that she fancies the pants off some bloke who wouldn't give her the time of day, because all of her confidence and headstrongness that she was famous for has simply disappeared, leaving a shy, meek girl standing in its place. He doesn't like this new change of hers, because she caves way too easily nowadays. She doesn't argue back with the same passion in her voice anymore, she just walks away and leaves him standing there in the middle of the hallway, his wand out ready for the inevitable hex that never seem to come his way. He tries to ask her about this mysterious bloke but she clams up and tells him that he'll be late to Quidditch practice. He's slightly disappointed, because he really wanted to hunt down this bastard that's making her become a shell of the person she was before, but his mother taught him to be respectful of women and to comply with their wishes, so he nods, and grudgingly gets up and takes his hand off her knee._

She's also incredibly impulsive. He doesn't know how that's a good thing, because he has half a mind to force her to see things clearly for once. She doesn't give a care about seemingly anything; she's always throwing caution out to the wind. He wonders how many near death experiences she needs to have before she realizes that all she needs is right there.

_He's flying around the pitch at night, his mind flying over her strange attitude in the common room earlier. There was a new light in her eyes, and her shrilly voice carried a tone of eagerness and a detectable trace of fear at the same time. Just as he's about to head down for the day, he sees a small figure climbing up a tall tree. He's slightly concerned, and full out panics when he realizes that's her. He angles his broom to speed up when she suddenly jumps off a branch and dives into the lake. He literally freezes before he snaps out of it and sits on his broom above the water's surface, his eyes scanning the bleak, unforgiving waters for a bushy red head. He's in hell for a minute when her head breaks the surface, her face paler than his. He breathes a sigh of relief and grabs her and hauls her out of the lake before she can hex him, making sure he wraps his cloak around her to keep her warm. When they're on land, she slaps him – Merlin, woman – asking him what the hell he was doing and she knew what she was doing ok she's not a baby like how everyone makes her out to be. He's frustrated and asks her why she chose to do something reckless like that she could've been killed is she suicidal or just plain stupid and she retorts that no one asked him to care so why is he even bothering. He screams that of course he's bothering he'll always care ok how could he not. Her eyes widen in surprise as the full meaning of what he said hits him. He panics and runs toward the castle, ignoring her call of his name._

She also doesn't care what people think. Given his past, he's always wary of those around him, so he makes sure not to step too far over the line, but she not only crosses over it, she leaves a wave of destruction behind. They're so different – he's cautious and careful, she's blatant and bold. When he wants something, he does so subtly. When she wants something, she makes headline news on the Daily Prophet.

_He's coming out of his Muggle Studies class when he spots a bushy red head in the crowded hallway. He doesn't need any further clarification; for the past week he's successfully hidden from her, always getting out of sight just in time. She's frustrated and he knows that, but he's never been good at confrontations and would rather not get into one anytime soon. He sneakily makes his way through in the opposite direction, opting to take the long way to potions, when someone blocks his way. Particularly, a redheaded female, someone. He wants to groan. He stands her unspeaking as she bursts at him, ranting and making him feel quite down. He doesn't pay much attention until some of her words catches his attention: _

"…_do you have _any_ idea how awful that _felt_? To be left behind as the boy I've been fancying all year run away from me right after he basically says that he fancies me too? Am I really that undesirable that the sight of my face makes you want to flee, Malfoy?" _

_He's too wrapped up in his euphoria that he doesn't register anything else she's saying. _She fancies me she fancies me she fancies me she fancies ME_ are all that's running through his mind. He's jarred back to reality when he becomes aware of how long they've been standing there and the crowd that has amassed around them when he smirks, subtly wraps his arms possessively around her and brings her face closer to his. She doesn't notice what he's doing until she realizes how close their faces were, her breath hitching as a brilliant blush overtook her face, her eyes wide._

"_You know what, Weasley?" He asks, grinning slightly at her bewildered expression. "You talk too much."_

_And he promptly brings their lips together, full out grinning when she kisses him back, if not, even more passionately._

She's an Ugly Hag, really, she is. But when Rose Weasley shows up at the ball, wearing a gorgeous navy blue dress that makes her blue eyes sparkle like the ocean, her boyfriend Scorpius Malfoy doesn't think so. Especially when he shows up next to her, his dress robes matching her dress right down to a T.


End file.
